See You Tomorrow
by bgharison
Summary: "When we were leaving the office, I said, 'see you tomorrow' to Chin and Kono, and they said, 'yeah, see you tomorrow'. I said, 'see you tomorrow' to you, and you said, 'goodnight', And 'goodnight' sounded like 'goodbye', okay?" "I wasn't saying goodbye," he said, finally. But he kept his eyes fixed on the water.


It nagged at Danny; something off. Something wrong. Subtle.

Like when you remember just a phrase from the chorus of a song, but not the verse. And of course, not enough to Google it. Just enough to be stuck in your head, annoying you all day.

Or when you think maybe, just maybe, there was something you forgot to do at home before you left for work.

Danny paused. Something . . . maybe something he forgot to do at work, before he left for home? He replayed the end of the day in his mind: Chin shutting down the computer, Kono bounding into her office to grab her tote bag because they were getting off early, and she was going to go surfing. It was a small, small tote bag. Because, let's face it, Kono's swimwear could easily fit in his pocket. Danny sighed. Wait. He was getting distracted.

Something he forgot to do at work; that's what he was thinking about. Where was he? Chin, computer. Kono, beach.

"See you guys tomorrow," he'd said.

"See you tomorrow, Danny," they'd said back.

What then? He had shut down his laptop, gathered up a file. Checked his phone for any messages from Gracie, just in case - it wasn't his night to see her, but he always checked before getting in the car. No messages from Gracie.

Well, that was good, anyway, he hadn't forgotten his kid.

Then . . . Steve. He'd gone to check in with Steve before heading home, had found Steve sitting at his desk, staring into space. It was unusual to see him sit still, that's why it stuck in Danny's head.

"Anything else before I leave, babe?" he'd asked, the familiar endearment rolling off his tongue without any particular thought.

"No, thanks, Danny, I'm done here," Steve had answered, standing up slowly. Which, again, was kind of unusual, so it stuck out to Danny. Steve pretty much lived life at the speed of sound.

Come to think of it, Steve had been unusually still and quiet for a while. Not on a case, obviously; he was still doing crazy stuff - driving way too fast, tackling people, whipping off his shirt at the slightest provocation. But between . . . he'd been still. And quiet. Pensive, Danny thought, would be a good word for it.

What had he forgotten? Had Steve asked him to do something? Pick something up?

The car behind him beeped and Danny realized he was sitting at a green light. He threw up a hand in apology and started driving. Tried to think of the last thing Steve had said, in case he'd forgotten something.

"See you tomorrow," Danny had said.

"Goodnight, Danny," Steve had replied.

Goodnight.

Not see you tomorrow.

Goodnight.

One syllable away from goodbye.

Shit. Shit shit shit shit. Danny took the next turn on two wheels and sped toward Steve's house. His mind was racing even faster. When did it start? When did Steve turn into quiet Steve, and why had they not all been alarmed? A quiet, still Steve? Only in an alternate universe. The man was a force of nature. A protocol ignoring, privilege abusing force of nature. Until he wasn't. Until he was . . . pod Steve. Walking around with a smile that hadn't reached his eyes since . . .

Since Freddie's funeral. Shit. The proverbial straw.

Danny slung his Camaro next to Steve's Silverado and walked, knees shaking, up to the front porch. If Steve was fine, he would feel stupid, but that was a risk he was willing to take. He knocked on the door.

Silence.

"Steven," he yelled.

Silence. He tried not to panic. Early; it was early yet, and it was a beautiful day. Of course, Steve would be in the water. Danny went around the side of the house, headed for the chairs.

He saw Steve's dark hair, over the back of the chair, but it wasn't reassuring. He was still just so damn still. Forcing one foot in front of another, Danny approached the chair. He forgot that he needed to make noise - it had only been a few weeks into their partnership that Danny had learned what a startled SEAL with PTSD was capable of - until he got almost to the chair.

"Steve?" he said, and it came out choked, of course, because his heart was all the way up in his throat and he was churning out adrenaline.

"Shit, Danny," Steve said, whirling around. "Don't sneak up." His eyes were glassy, and slightly red. There was an empty bottle of beer in the sand next to him, and a bottle in his hand. "Did we catch a case?" he asked, wearily. "If so, you're going to need to drive."

"No case," Danny said, and he collapsed in the chair next to Steve, knees weak with relief. He grabbed the beer out of Steve's hand and took a healthy swig.

"Hey," Steve protested, but there was no heat behind it. "What the hell?"

"I'll go get you another one, just give me a minute," Danny said, willing his heart back into normal range.

"Yeah, you will, but I mean, what the hell are you doing here, Danny?" Steve was looking at him with . . . what was this face? It was a new face. Danny studied him for a moment. Sadly Fond face. Danny decided to focus on the sad part, but he tucked that fond away for further study.

"I needed to check on you," Danny said.

"Check on me," Steve said, raising an eyebrow skeptically.

"Yes," Danny replied, and it came out much more like a question than he had intended.

"'M'fine, Danny," Steve mumbled, grabbing his beer back.

"I don't think you are," Danny said quietly. "I don't think you have been, not for a long time. Definitely not since you heard your dad get shot, and probably not since your mom was killed. But absolutely, absolutely not since recovering Freddie's body and his funeral. I'm just amazed that you've managed to this Pod Steve act off for as long as you have, around three people who care very much about you, one of whom is a damn fine detective."

"Danny . . . " Steve started, half-heartedly. He sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. "I'm fine, really. I'm just . . . tired."

"You're never tired, though, that's the thing," Danny said. In for a penny, in for a pound, he wasn't backing down now. "You are like a six foot tall, tattooed, grenade-carrying energizer bunny."

Steve cracked a smile at that. "I'm pink and fuzzy?"

"Possibly, on the inside," Danny replied immediately. "Don't think I don't watch you with Gracie."

Steve ducked his head. He sighed again and looked at Danny. "Danno, I appreciate it. I do. But I'll be fine. Honestly. Go home."

"See, here's the thing," Danny said, untucking his shirt and rolling up his sleeves. "I don't think I can do that tonight."

"You only had one sip of beer, Danny."

Danny was silent for a moment. Just how far was he willing to push this with Steve? He looked over at his partner, his best friend, and for one split second let himself imagine his worst case scenario. A chill went up his spine, enough to make him visibly shudder. He'd push this as far as he had to.

"You didn't say, 'see you tomorrow'," Danny blurted out.

Steve looked at him, confused. He glanced down at the beer in his hand, as if he were wondering if he'd had more to drink than he realized, because Danny wasn't making sense. He shook his head and looked back at Danny.

"When we were leaving the office, I said, 'see you tomorrow' to Chin and Kono, and they said, 'yeah, see you tomorrow, Danny'. I said, 'see you tomorrow' to you, and you said, 'goodnight'," Danny said. He grabbed the beer out of Steve's hand, took another swig, noticed that Steve was watching his throat, absently, as he swallowed.

Steve was still watching him, in fact. "Danny," he said. It came out softly, on an exhale.

"You gonna tell me I don't have anything to worry about?" Danny demanded. Pleaded. Demanded. Whatever.

"Well, depends on what you're gonna worry about," Steve said. "Falling coconuts? Tsunamis? Kono's next date?"

Danny threw up his hands in exasperation. "You, you big goof. I'm worried about you. You gonna make me spell it out?"

"Yeah," Steve drawled. He was just being obstinate now, Danny thought.

"You said 'goodnight' instead of 'see you tomorrow'. I was worried. It sounded a little like 'goodbye'," Danny said firmly. Petulantly. Whatever.

Steve sighed again and scrubbed his hand over his face. "I wasn't saying goodbye, Danny," he said, finally. But he didn't look at Danny when he said it. He kept his eyes fixed on the water.

"Okay," Danny said uncertainly. "Good."

"Okay," Steve said. "Happy now?"

Danny could have dropped it there, right, he could have. He knew this. He picked up on a signal, followed through, made sure his partner and best friend was okay.

Except, he wasn't okay. Danny was pretty sure that whatever Steve was, he was not okay.

"I'm not happy," Danny blurted, "because I don't think you're okay."

"Danny -" Steve was getting exasperated again.

"No, don't Danny me," Danny said. He could do exasperated, too. "I drove over here with my heart pounding out of my chest and walked into your yard with my knees shaking, because you're not okay. You're not okay, Steve, and I thought that you maybe said goodbye and I thought maybe I was gonna come over here and find you . . . find you -"

"No, Danny," Steve said gently. "No. Not gonna happen."

Danny studied him again. "You . . . Steve, you look wrecked. What you've been through; losing Freddie, then your dad, now going back to bring Freddie home . . . you can't possibly be okay. And, I mean, I know most of your shit is classified but I've been there, remember, in the middle of the night, when you don't know where you are and . . . I'm just saying, babe, if it's too much, if it's just too much, and it has to be, it has to be too much for one person, then I'm just saying. I would understand. If you're, you know, that wrecked. To, you know. Think about it. So I drove over here with my heart pounding out of my chest. And I just . . . I just want you to feel like you can be honest with me, Steve, just between us. You owe me that much, I think, because I get shot at, because of you, on a semi-regular basis. Are you, you know. Are you wrecked enough that you could?"

Steve looked at him, finally, and his eyes were filled with so much raw emotion that Danny stopped breathing. Sadness, and loss, and something just unfathomable, all underneath those ridiculous lashes and -

"I'm wrecked enough that I could, Danny, and even more wrecked because I can't," Steve said, quietly, "because I wouldn't. I won't. I wouldn't do that to the team."

Danny still couldn't breathe, and he wasn't a SEAL, so the lack of oxygen was an issue, but he just couldn't draw in a breath, so it came out all choked and strangled when he said Steve's name again.

"Steve. You're saying that . . . that it's so bad that you want to, and even worse because you can't? Is that what you're saying?"

Steve didn't say anything, he just stood up and whipped off his old Coronado t-shirt and started walking toward the water.

"Steve?" Danny called after him.

Steve stopped, put his hands on his hips, didn't look back. "I'm just . . . I'm going to swim, Danny. Swimming helps."

"I'm not leaving," Danny said.

Steve shrugged, and kept walking. Danny sat in the fading light, watching anxiously, until Steve emerged, dripping, from the water once more. The drops rolled down the intricate tattoos on his biceps and off the tips of his long fingers; down across his chest and those ridiculous abs and disappeared into the fabric of his board shorts, slung low on his hips. Danny very carefully and deliberately set aside his envy of the water droplets, because, God, this evening was messed up enough already.

"Go home, Danny," Steve said, tiredly but not unkindly as he walked into the house.

Danny followed him. "I don't think I'll sleep if I go home, Steve," he said, as they trailed into the kitchen. Danny helped himself to a fresh beer from the fridge and fumbled with the cap. Steve grabbed an opener out of a drawer, and then his hand was wrapping around Danny's hand, over Danny's hand, big and strong, covering it as it wrapped around the bottle, and his other hand deftly popped the cap off. He squeezed Danny's hand, fingers lingering gently as he slowly pulled his hand away.

"Do you think you can sleep if you stay here, Danny?" Steve said, standing close enough for Danny to smell the salt on his skin. "Sofa's pretty comfortable."

Danny swallowed hard, looked at Steve's eyes, still unfathomable.

"Yeah, I can sleep here, Steve. I'll be here, you know, if you need anything," Danny said.

Steve smiled, and it was a sad smile, but it reached his eyes, which were also sad, but it wasn't Pod Steve, so Danny would take it.

"Goodnight, Danny," Steve said, as he turned and slowly started up the stairs.

"See you tomorrow," Danny called after him.

Steve stopped, turned his head halfway to Danny. "See you tomorrow."

#*#*#*#*#

It nagged at Steve; something off. Something wrong. Subtle.

Like when you remember the last name of one of the arms dealers you've been chasing, but you don't remember why. So of course, you can't explain to the analyst why you want to cross reference it, what you want to cross reference it against. Just enough to ask the analyst to run . . something, and it nags at you all day.

Or when you think maybe, just maybe, there was something you forgot to do at home before you left for work.

Steve paused. Something . . . maybe something he forgot to do at work, before he left for home? He replayed the end of the day in his mind: Chin distracting the governor, bless him, because questions were being asked about Columbia, and Kono grabbed Danny, said that she had some papers from HR for him to sign in her office, for his 'vacation'. Because that's how Danny's time was going to be accounted for, written off, explained away, as vacation. But wait, his mind was drifting.

Something he forgot to do at work; that's what he was thinking about. Where was he? Chin, governor. Kono, paperwork.

They'd waited until the coast was clear, then left, together, Chin and Kono.

"See you guys tomorrow," he'd said.

"See you tomorrow, Steve," they'd said back.

What then? He had shut down his laptop, gathered up a file. Picked up paperwork to fill out for an upcoming reserve weekend.

Oh yeah. That was good, he needed to get that done. It was good that he hadn't forgotten that.

Then . . . Danny. Danny was still in Kono's office, sitting at her desk, staring silently into space. How weird was it to see Danny quiet?

"Danno, you okay?" he'd asked, the familiar endearment rolling off his tongue without any particular thought.

"No, I'm okay," Danny had answered, quickly.

Steve frowned, thinking back. Danny's answer hadn't fit the question. And that wasn't like Danny; Danny was sharp. He didn't miss a trick; he was exceptionally articulate. In fact, that was how he came up with some of his best leads - he caught people in half-lies, caught them answering questions that weren't asked.

That nagged at Steve; what had Danny so preoccupied? He thought back, trying to remember what came next.

"See you tomorrow," Steve had said.

"Of course," Danny had replied.

Of course.

Not see you tomorrow.

 _Of course?_

Take it for granted, safe to assume . . . shit.

Shit. Steve made an illegal U-turn, cut in front of a sports car, and headed toward Danny's apartment. Nothing was of course. Nothing should be taken for granted. Danny had just brought his brother's body back in a barrel, had killed his brother's murderer in cold blood. Protocol following, by the book, heart of gold Danny, had held a gun to a man's head and pulled the trigger, and then brought his brother's body home in a barrel. It was too much. He'd lost his partner, his marriage, his home, came damn close to losing custody of Gracie. And now Mattie. And this . . . losing Mattie like this. It was too much, for anyone, but for someone who wore his heart on his sleeve, like Danny . . .

He parked in front of Danny's apartment building, barely throwing the truck into park and took the stairs to Danny's door two at a time. He pounded on the door, rang the bell, pounded again.

Silence.

"Danny," he yelled.

Silence. He tried not to panic. He unlocked Danny's door, they were in each other's pockets all the time, the whole team, they all had keys to each other's places. Dark. Silent. His heart in his throat, he checked each room; pausing at the bathroom door, which was closed, taking a deep breath, pushing it open.

Empty.

He pushed down the panic, locked the door behind him, and headed to the truck. The overlook - Danny's overlook. He would go there, right? Danny would go there. _To regroup_ , Steve forced himself to think. _Danny would go there, to regroup. Clear his head. That's all._

He drove, lights flashing, because immunity and means were made for such a time as this. He reached the overlook, saw Danny's Camaro. At first he didn't see Danny and his heart stopped, and he stopped breathing, and then there Danny was, the sun glinting off his hair. Steve released a breath he had been holding so long that even he, with his stupidly spectacular SEAL lung capacity, was a bit dizzy.

"Danny?" he said, and it came out funny. Because of the adrenaline, he told himself.

Danny smiled, because of course, it was deja vu all over again, wasn't it.

"Danny," Steve said, because he didn't know what else to say. Danny's face was an open book, all pain and sadness, and something else, something like trust and affection, and Steve didn't know what to say. Danny was the one good with words. Steve was better with actions, so he sat down next to Danny, close, in his personal space, because really, they'd never had boundaries.

"I didn't understand," Danny said. "That night, when I drove like a bat out of hell over to your house, because you'd said 'goodnight' instead of 'see you tomorrow'. I didn't understand - I tried to, I did - when you said that it was so bad that you wanted to, but worse because you couldn't . . . God, Steve, I didn't understand. Until now. Now, I understand exactly what you meant."

"I'm so sorry, Danny," Steve said. "I went to your apartment. You said 'of course'. Like, I could take for granted that I'd see you tomorrow. But I don't, Danny, I don't take anything for granted. Not Chin, or Kono, or you. We need you, Danny."

"I know, babe," Danny said. "And Gracie needs me, and my parents, and Rachel, and . . . okay, so I went into my empty apartment tonight and I was thinking, how Mattie got off easy, because he doesn't have to face mom and pop, doesn't have to tell them that one of their sons is dead. And he doesn't have to face Gracie. I do. I have to deal with all the fallout, and God help me, I was thinking that Mattie got off easy. And I just couldn't take it, I couldn't sit there alone thinking that my brother got off easy."

And Danny leaned forward, his face in his hands, and his shoulders shook; because, unlike Steve, as he was so wont to remind him, Danny had been raised with a healthy willingness to express emotion, not suppress it like a robot SEAL. Steve put an arm around Danny's back, wrapped his hand around his shoulder. Willed himself to hold his arm there without exploring what the solid muscle felt like under his fingertips, what Danny's aftershave smelled like. Except he knew it smelled like bergamot and cedar, and really, he shouldn't know that.

"Don't go back to your empty apartment, then, Danny," he was saying, before he knew what he was saying. "Come to my place." Because - actions, not words. He couldn't say anything to make Danny feel better, to take away any of the pain, but by God, he could not let Danny go back to that empty apartment.

Danny took a shuddering breath, and nodded. Just like that.

Steve drove them back in the Camaro, because Danny had no business driving, and he had a go-bag in the back of the Camaro, and it was just easier. It was dark by the time they pulled up in front of the house, and Steve flicked on a lamp as they walked inside. In unspoken agreement, they headed to the kitchen, and Steve bypassed the refrigerator and pulled down a bottle of whiskey and two tumblers.

Danny nodded and headed to the sofa, untucking his shirt and shucking his tie off as he went. Steve handed him a tumbler, and Danny's fingers grazed over his, strong and warm, and calloused but not rough.

"Thanks, babe," Danny said, "You're . . . it's good of you, Steve, to worry about me. You know you don't have to, though, right? You look exhausted. Go on up to bed, get some sleep. I'm fine."

Steve shook his head stubbornly. "No, Danno, you said you didn't want to be in your apartment alone. So, I'm not leaving you down here alone; come upstairs with me." He paused, looked down at his glass. He hadn't exactly meant it to come out that way, but the thought of Danny's shoulders shaking, of Danny broken . . . "Downstairs is too far away," Steve blurted, "for me to watch over you." He swallowed hard. "Gracie would expect that of me," he added.

Danny looked at him, took a sip of his whiskey. He opened his mouth as if to protest, and then shook his head. "Okay, Steve," he said. "But you better not keep me awake with your snoring."

"I don't snore, Danny," Steve said indignantly as he followed Danny up the stairs. He reminded himself firmly that Danny was hurting, and devastated at the loss of his brother, and that it was not the time or place to notice his ass. Which was right in front of his face.

They took turns in the bathroom and it could have seemed awkward, except for the fact that it absolutely didn't. Danny went to the side of the bed that had an empty bedside table, figuring the one with a neat stack of books on it was Steve's.

"Goodnight, Steve," Danny said quietly, turning off his lamp.

Steve turned off his lamp, leaving the room dark except for the faint moonlight shining through the curtains. "See you tomorrow, Danny," he said.

"See you tomorrow," Danny answered.

#*#*#*#*#

The four of them shuffled, shell shocked, into the locker room, grabbing at clothes and stumbling into shower stalls. The water ran off their exhausted, bruised bodies and pooled pink around their feet before it was swept away into the drains. Steve was sure he heard a muffled sob from Kono, in the stall at the narrow end of the locker room, the one with the larger changing area. She'd claimed it the day she missed her graduation from the academy, and the guys regarded it as a bit of a sacred place. It smelled nice.

It had been a devastating case, a race against time to save one of HPD's own. And they had been too late. Danny had found the officer, a beautiful mother of two, her golden skin and dark hair reminding him instantly of his partner, Grace. They'd found her in just enough time for her to smile sadly at them.

"Tell my family I love them," she'd said, "and to be happy."

Her hands had fallen away from the gaping gunshot wound to her abdomen, and she'd slipped away, just like that. Just like Grace.

Steve and Chin had gone with Duke to inform the family, while Danny and Kono waited respectfully in the car. They had been the first two to fall to their knees beside the officer, and they were covered in blood.

"Oh, shit," Kono had breathed, when the door to the officer's house opened. They could see two children: the first, a tall, gangly boy, all elbows, with unruly brown hair. He was about fourteen years old, and he had his arms protectively around a younger girl, her blonder hair pulled up in a ponytail. She clutched at her brother's arms. Their father stood behind them, hands on their shoulders, shaking his head in disbelief.

When Steve had turned to walk back to the car, his face was a blank mask. Impassive. The same face he had now, tossing his towel into the hamper by the sink, and putting his shower kit back into his locker.

Kono fished her keys and phone out of the bloodstained jeans she'd shucked just before she stepped into the shower. She tossed the jeans into the biohazard trashbag.

"See you tomorrow?" she said, her voice wrecked, her eyes red rimmed.

"I'm taking you home with me," Chin said firmly. "Malia is making chicken soup. See you tomorrow, guys?" Chin said, turning to Danny and Steve.

"No," Steve said quietly, and they all looked at him, surprised.

"No," he repeated. "Take a day. The paperwork will wait. It's not -" he cleared his throat. "It's not going to change anything." And that was true. While Danny and Kono had tried desperately to save the officer, Chin and Steve had dealt with her kidnappers. Permanently. They'd resisted. "Take tomorrow, get . . . God, get out of the city, go surf, something. Take a day."

Chin nodded, put his arm around Kono, kissed her cheek, and led her out of the locker room. It broke Danny's heart: no one led Kono anywhere, ever.

"Grab your bag, Danny," Steve said, his voice rough and low. Commanding. Danny couldn't deny the effect of the voice, any more than he could deny the command. He grabbed his bag.

Steve pushed through the door of the locker room and headed to his truck. Danny followed silently. It had become an unspoken agreement between them; no one went home alone after a rough case. If anyone had questioned - and no one had, which made Danny wonder if Chin and Kono were, as usual, a step ahead of everyone else around them - it would have been simple to shrug off. Chin and Kono never let each other go home alone, so neither did Steve and Danny. Partners. Ohana.

Although, Kono probably didn't sleep in Chin's bed, like Danny did in Steve's. That had become an unspoken agreement as well, one that neither Danny nor Steve seemed inclined to examine too closely. But Danny hadn't been inclined to go back to the couch, and Steve hadn't been inclined to clear his childhood bed of a neat row of gear, kept packed and ready for reserve weekends. And the other bed's was Mary's, he'd explained. So.

To Danny's surprise, Steve pulled out water bottles instead of Longboards when they got to the fridge in Steve's kitchen. Steve tipped his back and gulped half of it down in a few desperate swallows. Danny tried, and failed, to ignore the long line of Steve's throat, the way his shirt sleeve slipped up over his tattooed bicep as he tipped the water bottle to his mouth. Steve tried, and failed, to ignore the pull of Danny's plain white t-shirt across his shoulders as he drank, the way his hair, still damp from his shower, fell in softer waves away from his face.

"I want to see you tomorrow," Steve said, putting his water on the counter.

"Well, since you drove me here, and I have no means of leaving, I think that's a safe assumption," Danny said. "I will be here tomorrow when you wake up."

Steve stepped into Danny's space, wrapped his hand around the back of Danny's neck.

"I want to see you tomorrow, and the day after that. I want to go to sleep at night, and wake up in the morning, knowing that you're okay," Steve said.

"What, you want me to live here?" Danny said, but his tone wasn't flippant. "What do you want, Steve?"

"I want you to tell me I'm not crazy," Steve whispered, looking down at Danny through those ridiculous lashes.

"Oh, you're crazy," Danny said. "You're the craziest of the crazies, no doubt about it."

"Okay, then tell me I'm not the only one into this, that I'm not the only one tired of dancing around this, that as much as I hate days like this, I love having an excuse to wake up with you next to me the day after," Steve said. "Tell me I'm not alone in this."

"You're not alone in this," Danny said. "You're not alone in anything, not anymore."

#*#*#*#*#

It was cool enough to have the windows open, and for once, Danny wasn't complaining about the sound of the waves. Danny wasn't complaining about anything, not even the fact that he would be sore tomorrow. Deliciously sore, in all the right places. Steve slipped back into the bed behind him, wrapping his arm around Danny and nuzzling the back of his neck.

"See you tomorrow," he mumbled, sated and a bit smug, to be honest.

"See you tomorrow," Danny replied, looking forward to tomorrow more than he had in a long, long time.


End file.
